


Sunshine

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Needs a Hug, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wanda Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7001692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s so not used to this, so thank god Wanda is facing away from her. Natasha doesn’t do heart to hearts with just anyone, and doing them with Wanda has its own kind of terror. As if any minute now Wanda will be gone from her life as anything more than a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> This contains elements of ageplay, so I won't be offended if you don't read :)
> 
> Contains Age of Ultron spoilers.

She can’t say exactly when she fell in love with Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha knows it mystifies the others, especially Steve; after all, hadn’t the Scarlet Witch invaded her mind, made Natasha relive the nightmare that was her time in the Red Room, her graduation? Natasha should be angry. She should’ve refused to let the girl join the Avengers, should have had nothing to do with her.

… but she knows what it’s like.

Still, understanding the Scarlet Witch is one thing. Falling head over heels in love with her has been quite another thing, entirely.

It happens by accident. Natasha takes the training of the new Avengers very seriously; the safety of the world depends on it, after all. So she’s probably a bit harsher than she needs to be: drilling Sam and Vision and Rhodey more than necessary, over and over again. Wanda takes it in stride; if she gets tired, she doesn’t show it. She’ll be drenched in sweat and exhausted, her body a little bent from wear when Steve finally tells Natasha they’ve been tortured enough and for god’s sake let them rest. But as they all walk off back to their living quarters and the blessed shower, Wanda will flash Natasha a blinding smile, as if she hasn’t even stretched a muscle.

It’s that smile that proves to be Natasha’s undoing. It had been an ordinary day, once again after Steve had rescued them all from training. Natasha had joked about the boys not being able to handle orders from a woman, and Wanda had laughed. It was the first time since Ultron that any of them had heard her laugh, really laugh, and everyone had stopped to turn and look at her.

For Natasha, it felt like the first time she’d ever really seen the young woman. How her green eyes shone brown in just the right light, or the way her dark hair hid the fine line of Wanda’s jaw. Natasha had jokingly taken to calling Wanda “sunshine” because of the red and black clothing she seemed to always wear. She remembered that she’d called Wanda that earlier in the morning. Had the blush been because of the term of endearment, or because of the exercise?

It didn’t matter. Suddenly Natasha’s waking hours were filled with thoughts of Wanda, and it seemed the feeling was mutual – Wanda had asked her out three days later.

It’s been four months since, and now they share the same bed. That, too, had happened quite by accident, when Wanda had fallen asleep in Natasha’s arms after a night of lovemaking. It was different, Natasha had mused then, being with Wanda. She’s far too accustomed to using her body and sex as a weapon, as a tool to extract secrets. And Natasha still takes the lead, with Wanda, but it’s still different. Wanda isn’t necessarily innocent, but she’s not used to gentleness. To kindness. It feels weird to Natasha, to actually _be_ soft, and _she’s_ only just now learning that the world doesn’t have to be painful. But the hands trained to kill skim Wanda’s skin lightly, and when they kiss it’s tender, even in the heat of the moment. Natasha likes it.

She finds that she likes sharing breakfast with Wanda in the morning. The teasing glances and secret smiles as they train, which causes Sam to roll his eyes and perfectly confuses Vision. The poor former AI has a blatant crush on Wanda, which ought to make Natasha jealous, she knows. But it’s her hand Wanda holds as they walk out of training, and Natasha’s insecurity slips away into a kind of protectiveness.

She’s not romantic; they haven’t even said those four letters to each other yet. Natasha doesn’t do flowers, she’s not a rose-petals-around-the-bathtub kind of woman. She’s not big on saying how she feels; she’s not even sure she’d manage the words if she was. Wanda is bossy to the point of sometimes hovering, always making sure Natasha has eaten and that she stays safe. Other times she’s quiet, so quiet that Natasha will start to worry. But she snuggles into Natasha in their bed, clinging to her in a way that makes Natasha’s chest hurt a little. So maybe they’re not good with words, and the actions are sometimes secretive and stilted, but it’s working for them.

But then Natasha wakes up one night when the clock next to her bed reads 3:05 a.m., and Wanda is gone.

She waits for a few minutes, thinking she’ll be able to hear Wanda in the kitchen, because for some reason the girl loves midnight snacks. Natasha thinks it’s because Wanda hasn’t ever really had the luxury, and she understands that more than most people would. But there’s no telltale sounds of refrigerator or plates clinking, and ten minutes go by without Wanda returning.

Natasha climbs out of bed into the chill of the night air, wearing only one of Wanda’s tee-shirts, and a pair of underwear. The place feels empty, somehow, which Natasha knows is ridiculous because Vision and Wanda’s rooms are just down the hall. It’s taken some getting used to, this idea of having housemates. It’s almost as foreign to Natasha as not being handcuffed to a bed at night. She absently rubs the barely-there scar on her wrist as she walks towards the kitchen.

Wanda is not there, predictably. Natasha brushes her hair out of her eyes and goes to the refrigerator with a shrug. As long as she’s there she might as well get a drink, she thinks. She drains the water bottle in one go, the coldness soothing her dry throat. Natasha tosses the bottle into the trash can and starts down the hall towards Wanda’s room, but a sound from behind stops her.

It’s the soft, pained sound of someone crying, and as Natasha walks slowly back into the living room, she realizes from the streetlight shining into the window that it’s Wanda. She’s on the couch, her knees drawn up. She’s been crying for a while, Natasha realizes, judging by the tear stains on her cheeks, and it makes her angry that she hadn’t noticed Wanda slipping out of the bed. Natasha sleeps like the dead when there’s no fear of someone coming to kill her.

She approaches the couch as quietly as she can. Wanda may no longer be under someone else’s control, but startling the Scarlet Witch isn’t high on Natasha’s bucket list. She’s beautiful even when she’s upset, Natasha thinks. Wanda likes to wear pajamas, short nightgowns that accentuate her lean legs, those perfect thighs. Natasha reaches out to touch her shoulder, to wake her, but stops short.

Wanda’s eyes are shut, tears spilling down her cheeks as she sucks on her thumb.

That’s… new. Natasha straightens up and stares down at her, confused. Wanda is fast asleep, but still crying, whimpering to herself. Natasha can hear the soft sounds the younger girl’s mouth makes against her skin as she sucks her thumb, can see the twitching of Wanda’s jaw with each motion. But otherwise Wanda is motionless, completely lost in whatever is going on inside of her enhanced mind. She seems alternately distressed and calm, and Natasha is helpless to make sense of it.

Well, she can’t just be a stalker and stand there and watch, Natasha knows; besides, the rush to _fix_ whatever it is upsetting her _girlfriend_ is strong. Natasha isn’t even used to having a girlfriend, but she doesn’t care. Wanda is too precious to be crying, and if something has hurt her – is hurting her – Natasha needs to hunt it down.

“Wanda,” she says gently, lightly shaking the woman’s shoulder. “Wanda, honey, wake up.”

Wanda only mumbles, her free hand batting the air.

Natasha grins, and pushes a little harder. “Come on, Maximoff,” she says a little more loudly. “This couch is uncomfortable enough for one person, no way am I cuddling up to you on it.”

(That’s a lie. She’d lay with Wanda anywhere.)

But her statement jerks Wanda awake, and the witch springs up like Natasha has struck her. She glances around with wild eyes, yanking her thumb out of her mouth. Her gaze settles on Natasha and Wanda takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” Natasha says with a raised eyebrow.

“… hey.”

“You okay?”

“What? Yes, I’m fine.” Wanda doesn’t look like she buys her own words; she’s looking down at the floor now.

Natasha raises her hand and uses her thumb to brush away the remnants of tears on Wanda’s cheek. “You don’t look fine.” Her voice is easy, teasing; she’s trying not to betray the worry she feels, mixed with the confusion from the fact that she’s just seen her lover sucking her thumb.

“Kind of lonely waking up by myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says, looking immediately guilty, and Natasha leans up on her tiptoes to kiss her.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” Wanda shakes her head, then takes Natasha’s hand.

“Let’s go back to bed.”

Reluctantly she allows Wanda to lead her back into the bedroom; she slips under the covers and Wanda does the same, her back pressed to Natasha’s front.

Moments later, Natasha breaks the silence.

“What is it, _solnyshka_?”

She is “sunshine” when they’re with the others; Wanda is only _solnyshka_ when they are alone, and when she is spent in Natasha’s arms with the sheen of love still on her skin.

She feels Wanda shake her head and the kiss Wanda presses to the back of Natasha’s hand.

“Nothing. I am just missing Pietro.”

Natasha sighs a little and runs her free hand through Wanda’s long hair. The girl’s dead brother has loomed like a specter over them all. Baby Nathaniel makes it a little better; Wanda dotes on Clint’s son and is always happy when Natasha takes her to the farm to see him. But he isn’t Pietro, and Natasha knows it weighs heavily on his twin.

She pulls Wanda ever closer to her. She wants to soothe her, to say “I love you,” but the words stick in her throat.

After a while, Wanda’s heaviness against Natasha speaks of sleep.

In the morning, Natasha watches Wanda like a hawk as they eat breakfast. Steve is astonishingly good at making waffles; Sam and Natasha are experts at eating them, while Vision asks questions about the exact function of maple syrup, and Wanda just picks at the drowned pieces on her plate.

She catches Natasha staring, and flushes. It’s beautiful and nerve-wracking at the same time; so it is when she smiles. It’s dazzling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she says with a little note of laughter in her voice.

Natasha shrugs, spears a piece of waffle with her fork, and holds it up to Wanda’s lips.

She wants to ask why she was sucking her thumb, but she doesn’t.

Wanda takes the waffle in her mouth and licks the syrup from her lips almost seductively; Natasha rolls her eyes and feels better.

Training is easier today; it’s approaching the weekend and everyone is more than a little drained. Steve lets them all go after a couple of hours and he and Natasha retreat to go over strategy. Well, strategy is more like Natasha teasing Steve to get a date, which he takes good-naturedly as usual. He asks about Wanda. Natasha knows that he’s worried about their relationship and how it’ll affect the team. But she’s _professional_ , she tells him, and she knows the boundaries between work and play.

“That’s fine, Natasha,” he says to her with a knowing look. “But if it came down to Wanda or the world do you know which one you’d choose?”

She glares at him. “I won’t have to choose, Cap. You know, if you had a date or two you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

Natasha leaves with a grin, then; she should go find the sunshine and ask her if she wants to do something in town. Lunch, maybe. Or a movie. No, maybe not the movie. Natasha wonders as she walks to their quarters if Wanda would want to go to the park. There’s a lake in the center of it, and maybe Wanda would like to feed the ducks.

But when she finds Wanda in her own bedroom, on the bed with damp tear stains on her cheeks, Natasha thinks that maybe… maybe Wanda prefers being left alone. It’s strange how Wanda’s thumb in her mouth, again, makes her seem so impossibly young, so terribly small.

She’s somehow shoved all of her blankets down to the foot of the bed, and even though Friday keeps the temperature comfortable, Wanda is still shivering. Her eyes are closed, but Natasha isn’t certain the little witch is actually sleeping. Still, Natasha comes to the bed quietly, and reaches down. First the sheets, then the blanket is draped over Wanda’s shoulders.

Natasha has never been good at comforting, unless it’s one of Clint’s kids. And even that’s far too easy for her to ever think about. Cooper just wants to toss a ball around. Lila wants a hug and a few rounds of Go Fish. Nathaniel always stops crying and smiles when Natasha boops his nose and says “Knock it off, you little traitor, you.”

But she’s helpless to understand how to help her _girlfriend_ stop crying, how to bring comfort that’s something more than just a blanket. If Wanda is awake, if she feels when Natasha places an awkward palm between her shoulder blades and just rests it there, she doesn’t acknowledge it. It makes Natasha wish she had Wanda’s powers. She’s good at tells, but she can’t read the young girl’s mind.

Finally, she just cards her hand through Wanda’s loose curls, and Natasha leaves her girlfriend to retreat to her own bedroom.

Dinner comes and goes; Natasha has gotten too lost in researching something on her tablet that she doesn’t consciously skip it so much as she forgets. She’s reading an article on 21 ways to help a friend in crisis ( _don’t push, connect, be there, listen_ ) when she hears footsteps shuffle across the carpet of her room, and she smells the meat and potatoes before Wanda sets the plate on Natasha’s bedside table.

“You didn’t have to,” Natasha says, and sets the tablet aside.

Wanda gives her a look. “It is not polite to refuse dinner when Cap put forth a lot of effort to create an enjoyable meal.”

“Oh, guilt,” Natasha says sardonically. “That always works.” But she smiles and shifts on the bed, motioning for Wanda to sit with her. Wanda sprawls out, long legs and nervousness, and settles the plate onto Natasha’s lap.

The first bite of the food isn’t even in Natasha’s mouth before she realizes that there’s a wall. Even if it’s low, it’s there, like someone has erected a fence dividing Wanda and Natasha without them even knowing. Wanda is distant as Natasha eats; she knows there is _something_ eating away at the younger woman’s mind, but she’s so afraid of the answer that she doesn’t ask what.

Natasha wonders if she can blame her training for constantly, over the last four months, dreading just exactly this.

It had felt too good to be true.

And so it is.

But later that night when Natasha finishes up watching a movie with the others even as her mind is going over _how to comfort someone you love_ , and decides to go off to bed, Wanda comes with her. She comes with Natasha, and closes the door behind them, and the look in Wanda’s eyes speaks of staying. All too soon Natasha is naked and on her back, with Wanda naked and between her legs. She tangles her hands in Wanda’s hair, holding her _there_ , and thanks God that some fences come with gates, at least.

She wakes up sated and still wet a few hours later, to find Wanda curled under her chin, whimpering a little. She’s fast asleep, her thumb again thrust tightly into her mouth. But she’s uneasy, restless, her legs slide frantically against the sheets and Natasha wraps her arms around the girl, desperate to pull Wanda away from her ghosts.

“Shh,” she whispers onto the top of Wanda’s head. “Shh, _solnyshka_ , it’s all right.”

“Mama,” Wanda sniffles, and she clings closer as Natasha stiffens in shock.

Wanda sleeps, fitfully, the sound of her thumb-sucking filling the room. Natasha doesn’t sleep. She stares at the ceiling, and wonders.

She doesn’t say anything for two days. Two days that Natasha can feel the wall grow taller, the gate to the fence become locked. Now they’re barely talking, but what hurts the most is Wanda has taken to looking at Natasha like she’s almost afraid of her. That tears at Natasha’s heart, makes her feel sick. The very fact that it makes her _feel_ anything at all is enough to make her want to run. But she doesn’t.

The boys have gone out, which is fine with Natasha. Maybe Steve and Sam can work out whatever manly tension combined with flirtation that they’ve got going on, or Steve will finally get off his ass and ask Sharon out. Either way, it’s a welcome relief to not have Vision stalking around as an AI in human form, and to not feel like Rhodey is secretly recording every single one of them and reporting his findings back to Stark.

Natasha camps out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a Harry Potter marathon. There is _always_ a Harry Potter marathon, but she rarely gets to indulge. So she’s happy that she can finally sit and watch uninterrupted. Happier still when Wanda finds her way into the living room and sits down on the floor in front of her. She’s wearing a simple black dress and leggings; no shoes. She’s tired, Natasha can tell, and her hair is a tangled mess.  Natasha waits until there’s a commercial break before she grabs a hairbrush from the bathroom.

“C’mere.”

She spreads her legs so that Wanda can sit in between them; she rests her head against Natasha’s stomach for a moment, and Natasha strokes her hair.

_How to soothe an upset friend_

_Listen_

“I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.”

It’s more of a request than anything, but when Natasha feels Wanda’s body grow tight, she rests her hand on the girl’s shoulder for a few seconds, then resumes her gentle untangling with her fingers.

“There is not—“

“No,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don’t want to start that, Wanda. I thought we could tell each other the truth. I thought we were girlfriends.”

“… do you not want to be?”

“I do want to be. More than I think we both know. But we can’t build a relationship if we can’t talk to each other.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

Natasha picks up the hairbrush and begins sliding it through Wanda’s hair. She’s never brushed anyone’s hair but her own before, not even Lila’s, but there’s something relaxing about the repetitiveness of it. Wanda’s hair is clean and smells of the shampoo that Natasha always buys; Natasha keeps her strokes light.

“What bothers me is knowing you’re upset, sunshine. Please, Wanda, talk to me.”

She’s so not used to this, so thank god Wanda is facing away from her. Natasha doesn’t do heart to hearts with just anyone, and doing them with Wanda has its own kind of terror. As if any minute now Wanda will be gone from her life as anything more than a friend.

There’s a pause that’s so long Natasha finds herself watching Harry get sorted into Gryffindor before Wanda speaks again.

“I am sad.”

Natasha mutes the television. “That much I’ve guessed,” she says, but she’s not teasing. “Pietro?”

Wanda’s head lowers a little. “That should be it, shouldn’t it?” she murmurs. “But no, it’s not Pietro.”

“Then what is it?” Natasha sets aside the brush and separates the warm, soft strands of Wanda’s hair, beginning to braid. Wanda’s never had her hair braided before, at least not that Natasha’s seen. She’s suddenly eager to know just what it looks like.

“I am sad about you.” It’s so quiet that Natasha has to lean down to hear it.

“Are you… not happy with us?” Natasha asks, her cheek next to Wanda’s before she straightens up and waits for the inevitable.

“Don’t think that!” Wanda tries to turn around but Natasha is still braiding; she stops long enough to put her hand on Wanda’s shoulder and hold her in place. And suddenly the wall has come tumbling down, the gate to the fence swings open and Wanda’s words spill out.

“I shouldn’t be happy. Pietro is dead and he is part of my soul; with that gone how could I ever be happy? But there is you, and you make me smile and laugh, and it makes me feel like perhaps the experiments are worth it, because haven’t I met you?”

Natasha drops a kiss to the top of Wanda’s head. She’s French-braiding her hair, watching the dark and light highlights come together, and Natasha has the brief thought of, when had she learned to French braid?

“That’s a pretty big compliment, sunshine.”

She can feel Wanda smiling under her hands, but it fades just as quickly.

“Wanda?”

“I hurt you. I hurt you and made you see things, but now you are so good to me and if I’m not careful I could fall in love with you. But I don’t understand.”

 _If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with you_.

“What don’t you understand?”

She’s forgotten to get a rubber band, Natasha realizes, just as she reaches the end of Wanda’s hair. She glances around and spots one of Wanda’s lacy gloves on the coffee table; a wide, satiny black ribbon winds through the wrist, and Natasha thinks that it’ll do, for now. She reaches down to grasp one of Wanda’s hands, bringing it back and wrapping her fingers around the loose tail.

“Hold that for a second,” Natasha says as she picks up the glove and begins to work out the ribbon.

“What don’t you understand?” she asks again.

Wanda is quiet, thinking. Finally, she says, “I don’t understand how you can care for me after what I did to you.”

Natasha notices, keenly, that Wanda has not said love, because Natasha has never said it. Love perhaps comes easily for Wanda; she knew the love of a mother and father and brother. She hadn’t been born into harshness and regimen, and though the experiments made her into something she never would’ve even dreamed, if she’d been left to live her life in Sokovia with her _family_ , Wanda’s capacity to love is still, apparently, strong.

Natasha wants to, more than anything. She wishes the words would spill easily from her lips but she thinks that perhaps it will mean more when she finally does say it to Wanda, simply because it’s so hard. And she will say it, of that much she is certain. Less certain is when.

Natasha takes Wanda’s hair from her hand again, and swiftly ties off the braid with a big, looping bow. She feels a little bit of pride, looking at it; for someone who doesn’t even remember where she learned to do a braid, she’s done a damn good job.

She tugs on Wanda until the younger woman is forced to rise up and turn, resting her hands on Natasha’s thighs. It’s a shock to Natasha, just _how_ young Wanda looks, with her dark hair braided, and a frightened expression on her face. It makes Natasha soften, makes her wrap her arms around Wanda’s shoulders and pull her close as the woman kneels between her legs.

She cups the back of Wanda’s head with her hand and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“It’s very easy to care about you,” Natasha says honestly. “And it’s very easy to remember that when you did those things, you weren’t really you. You had no control over what you did, or who made you do them.”

“I should have had more control.” Wanda’s hazel eyes are wet, and Natasha shakes her head.

“And how would you have done that, Wanda? They would have beaten you. Or worse.”

They _had_ done worse to Wanda, but she and Natasha rarely speak of it. They’re very good at waiting for the other person to be ready. Oddly enough, Natasha is usually the one who goes first.

“I still should have been stronger. Resisted.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing.” Natasha leans forward and kisses Wanda, gently, only for a moment.

“Making you see those things is never right,” Wanda replies stubbornly, and it’s true, so Natasha only shrugs.

“I’m not going to hold it over your head for the rest of our lives,” she says, holding Wanda’s waist with her hands and running her thumbs over the fabric of Wanda’s dress. “Don’t get me wrong, I hold grudges. There are things I can’t forget, that I don’t want to forget. I won’t forget you being inside my head.”

“Right.” Wanda looks down at Natasha’s lap, and Natasha tips her chin back up with her fingers.

“But that’s strategic, not emotional, Maximoff.” She sounds like an Avenger, now. “That’s me staying aware of what you can do. But…” She kisses Wanda again.

“I’ve told you I forgive you. And I do. I forgive you, and I know you won’t do it unless I say it’s okay.” They’ve toyed with the idea, of letting Wanda inside Natasha’s head again. It scares the Black Widow, and they haven’t done it yet. But she has no doubt that she will.

“I am very lucky to have your forgiveness.” A couple of the tears shining in Wanda’s eyes spill over, and Natasha hugs her close.

“I just want you to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

“I can help you, if you just let me.” Natasha rubs Wanda’s back, holding the girl to her.

“Why do you suck your thumb?”

The question is sudden, unexpected even to Natasha. Wanda stiffens against her, and tries to pull away, but Natasha isn’t finished trying to learn how to comfort, and holds fast.

“You’ve been doing it a lot lately. You hadn’t, before.”

She can see that Wanda is embarrassed by the way the tips of her ears have turned a fire-engine red. Natasha isn’t sure she should find that adorable, but she does.

“I-I used to do it as little girl,” Wanda confesses. “And then when I got older and the experiments… when things happened…” Her words catch in her throat, and Natasha moves to pull Wanda up on to the couch next to her.

“It’s comforting,” Wanda says, not looking at her. “Pietro used to try to get me to stop, but when I am upset it makes me feel safe. Like I am little girl again, back home with Mama and Papa and Pietro. When we were happy.”

She glances at Natasha, who is hanging on to every word. “I’m sorry, it’s dumb.”

Natasha shakes her head. “No, it’s not dumb at all,” she says. She’ll never tell Wanda it’s dumb, not when Wanda is looking at her like a wounded little bird.

“I don’t mind, if you need to do it.”

Wanda tilts her head. “Really?”

“Really.”

That elicits a smile, and Natasha settles back against the couch. She tips her chin to the television, where Harry and Ron are rescuing Hermione from the troll in the girl’s bathroom. Wanda nods, and curls into Natasha’s side as she turns up the volume.

Ten minutes later her thumb is in her mouth, and Natasha doesn’t mind at all.

Natasha and Steve have to go on an op a couple of days later, leaving the other Avengers behind. The expression on Wanda’s face as Natasha boards the jet isn’t something she wants to remember, ever, but she knows it’ll happen enough times that it’ll be etched on her memory. She hates this part of the job. This she’d never asked for, but she supposes it all comes with saving the world.

Saving the world is a bust this time though, as the op turns out to be little more than rumor, which puts Cap on edge. Anything that involves Bucky puts him on edge, and Natasha sometimes finds herself wishing that Steve would be able to control his emotions a little bit more, as far as the winter soldier was concerned. Sure, he’s Steve’s best friend, one of the few remnants of pre-icicle Steve that Captain America has left. But sending them all out on a wild goose chase is starting to get tiresome, and Natasha wonders when the world had come down to just one man, instead of all of humanity.

But she stays quiet, and reads articles on her tablet. She reads about comforting as if it was a mission from the Red Room. She takes in every bit of information: how to soothe a friend that is grieving, how to listen to someone in pain, how to comfort a crying child. She makes mental notes, comes up with strategies, considers which tools she will need for the mission.

Before she goes back to the base she stops into a retail store.

Wanda is asleep in their bed when Natasha finally makes it in. A smile crosses her face when she sees that Wanda has fallen asleep cuddling one of Natasha’s tee-shirts. It’s adorable, and sad at the same time. Natasha sits on the bed and lightly jostles the girl’s shoulder.

“Wanda?”

She mumbles and shies away from Natasha’s touch; Natasha chuckles. The tear stains and thumb in Wanda’s mouth still hurt her heart, but the girl doesn’t seem to be in distress, now.

“Wanda.”

Wanda blinks her eyes and stares up at Natasha blearily.

“Mama?”

“Uh, no,” Natasha says. She leans down and pecks a kiss to Wanda’s lips. “It’s me, _solnyshka_.”

“Natasha!” she flings herself at her girlfriend, grasping hard, gripping at her shirt as she buries her face in Natasha’s neck. “Oh, you are home, you are not dead!”

“No,” Natasha says, reaching her arms around Wanda to hug her, still wondering about “mama.” “No, I’m not dead, honey.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” They kiss, long and lingering, until Wanda is smiling against her lips and Natasha is cupping her cheek.

It’s nice, this having a home, and a girlfriend to come back to.

Natasha slinks her way out of her tac suit and climbs naked into bed with Wanda, who sheds her own nightgown. Neither of them want sex; both of them are hungry for the feel of the other’s skin.  Natasha can feel Wanda’s heart beating against hers, and it’s more soothing than anything she’s ever known. If anything is love, she thinks to herself just before she falls asleep, this is it.

The next morning, when they’re dressed, Natasha gives Wanda what she had bought. It’s a small patchwork quilt, child-sized, with blocks of fabric in varying shades of red, pink, and white, and a little black thrown in because, well, it’s for Wanda.

The witch stares at it in her hands, and Natasha bites her lip, feeling awkward and maybe like this had been a horrible idea after all. Wanda looks up at Natasha, a question in her eyes, and her girlfriend shrugs.

“I don’t know if it’s real,” she says, “because they took a lot of my memories.” She doesn’t have to say who “they” are; Wanda knows, and her expression darkens at the mere mention of them.

“But I have this memory of a blanket, and I think I used to sleep with it before they found it.”

“What did they do with it?”

Natasha shrugs. “Burned it.” Burned it and whipped her, but she doesn’t feel like that needs to be told.

“It used to make me feel better when I was scared and lonely. I know you have your, ah, your thumb, but I thought it could help you too.”

Wanda walks over so that she is impossibly close to Natasha, the blanket clutched in one hand as she reaches for Natasha with the other. “You should keep it.”

Natasha smiles and kisses Wanda’s cheek. “You like to feel little sometimes,” she says, and Wanda nods, a deep pink flushing her cheeks.

“I think I like taking care of you when you feel that way.”

“You don’t have to,” Wanda protests.

“That’s why I want to.” She kisses Wanda on the lips again. “But it’s up to you. I’m going to go find breakfast, I’m starving.”

She leaves Wanda alone, staring down at the blanket in her hands.

They make love that night, rough and hard, up against the wall, because Natasha herself has one of those nights where she gets lost inside the past, and Wanda knows how to bring her out. The witch had been hesitant about causing Natasha any pain, but Natasha had pointed out that sex doesn’t always have to be sweetness and light, and sometimes she _needs_ to feel the hurt. And besides, the cuddles after are the best of it all. Wanda Maximoff is the world’s best cuddler.

Wanda accepts the blanket; soon it goes everywhere with her unless she is training, or if the others are around, because they would never understand. But when she is alone with Natasha, either watching television or cooking or just sitting side by side in comfortable silence, the blanket is twisted in her fingers and is already starting to become a little frayed at the edges. More often than not Natasha will look over and see that Wanda’s thumb has slipped into her mouth, and it makes Natasha feel somehow softer, gentler. Wanda has really taken to having her hair braided or put into a ponytail, and Natasha does it for her every now and then, marveling at how it makes the already young woman seem even younger. It’s as if Wanda floats away from the current and becomes a little girl, hair braided and clutching a blankie.

Natasha doesn’t mind. It’s weird, yeah, and a part of her worries that this is going to make things worse for Wanda rather than help her, but if it makes her feel safe, Natasha doesn’t mind going along. Especially when Wanda curls against her with a contented sigh and goes a whole week without crying herself to sleep.

One blessed week, until they meet with Stark and he makes some offhand comment about Pietro that sets Wanda off again. She starts sleeping alone in her own bed, thumb in her mouth and her body curled around her blanket. She’s like a ghost going around the base, going through the motions of her training but not really improving or interacting. She barely talks to Natasha, barely eats, and Cap has to physically restrain Natasha from hunting down Stark and beating the ever-loving shit out of him.

It’s then that Natasha realizes the truth. She needs Wanda Maximoff. She’s needed her since the very beginning, and when Wanda stops talking to her because of her own pain Natasha can’t handle it. All her life Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, has been trained to “look out for number one,” but now, the need to look out for Wanda is as strong as it is foreign, and Natasha’s not sure she can say she “doesn’t do comfort” anymore.

Because what has it all been, the research and the blanket, the cuddling and braiding of Wanda’s hair, if not comfort? And what is this desire to keep Wanda safe, to keep her happy, if not love?

She waits two more nights before she’s had enough of being alone in her bed. Natasha can’t bear the thought of Wanda crying herself to sleep again, not if she can be there to help, to soothe. So just after 3 a.m. on a Tuesday, she pads down the hall from her room to Wanda’s, and slips inside.

She’s sucking her thumb with her blankie tucked under her chin, and Natasha can’t help but smile. She rounds the bed to what would usually be “her side” and climbs in, reaching out to brush Wanda’s hair from her face.

“Wanda?” she calls softly. “Wanda, it’s okay, honey.” She inches over carefully until she’s close enough to Wanda to gently tug on her.

“Come here, Wanda.”

Her girlfriend opens her eyes. “Natasha?” she whispers, and Natasha nods.

“Come here,” she says again, and pulls Wanda to a sitting position, so that she’s half on Natasha’s lap, her head on her shoulder.

“There we go,” Natasha says, rubbing her back as she begins to rock Wanda in her arms. It’s awkward; Wanda is a full three inches taller than Natasha, but it’ll do for now.

She feels Wanda’s tears wetting her shirt, and Natasha sighs. She puts her lips close to Wanda’s ear and begins to hum as she rocks; it’s an old Russian lullaby that Natasha thinks she must have heard on the television or perhaps on one of her missions. It doesn’t matter. It seems to instantly soothe Wanda, who snuggles closer with her blanket pressed to her chest.

“That’s my girl,” Natasha says, a surge of warmth coursing through her as she holds Wanda and rocks.

Wanda opens her eyes again to look at her; they’re fuzzy with sleep and Natasha knows the girl can’t really see _her_.

“Mama?”

Natasha shakes her head. “No, honey, I’m not your mama.”

That is decidedly the wrong thing to say, because Wanda’s lower lip begins to tremble, and the tears that had been dry start to flow freely again. She pulls away from Natasha slightly.

“M-Mama?”

There’s such a look of hopefulness that Natasha gives in, against her better judgment. This isn’t something she’s wanted, something she can ever see herself wanting, but… this is Wanda. She hadn’t ever seen herself wanting a girlfriend, either. Being in love.

And this has to be what love is, because Natasha presses Wanda’s head back to her shoulder, and continues to rock, in silence for a few moments. She can feel Wanda’s hand fidgeting around the blanket, and Natasha pats her back.

“ _Da_ ,” she finally says, and means it.

“ _Da_ , _solnyshka_ , Mama’s here.”


End file.
